The boardroom of Anderson Inc. was a sleek, cold fortress of glass and steel, perched high above the frenetic pulse of New York City. Polished mahogany stretched across the table, reflecting the stern faces of the board members—old men in tailored suits and a few women with pinched expressions, all clutching their portfolios like lifelines. The air buzzed with whispers and the faint scent of expensive cologne, but it all came to a screeching halt when the double doors swung open with a dramatic thud.
Tommy Anderson strode in, a storm in human form. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, his sun-weathered skin marked by jagged scars that told tales of battles no one in this room could fathom. His dark brown eyes, sharp and nerdy behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, scanned the room with an intensity that made spines straighten. He wore a simple black t-shirt and jeans, a stark contrast to the corporate armor around him, but he carried himself like he owned the damn place. Which, technically, he did. In his left hand, he clutched a small, ancient Chinese box, its surface etched with cryptic symbols that seemed to pulse under the fluorescent lights.
“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” muttered one of the older board members, a man with a face like a crumpled paper bag, as Tommy dropped into the CEO’s chair with a casual thud, kicking his boots up onto the table.
“Gentlemen. Ladies,” Tommy drawled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that carried a smirk. “Miss me?”
A woman with a severe bob and a navy blazer leaned forward, her lips pursed. “Mr. Anderson, if that’s even who you are, you’ve been gone for five years. No word, no trace. We’ve moved on. You can’t just waltz in here and—”
“Waltz?” Tommy cut her off, arching a brow as he leaned back, the chair creaking under his muscular frame. “Sweetheart, I didn’t waltz. I survived. Five years on a godforsaken island will do that to a man. But don’t worry, I’ve got the receipts.” He slid a folder across the table with a flick of his wrist. “Fingerprints. Blood tests. DNA. It’s all there. I’m Tommy Anderson, in the flesh. And I’m taking back what’s mine.”
The room fell silent as they rifled through the documents, murmurs of reluctant acceptance rippling through the crowd. Tommy’s smirk widened. He’d expected skepticism—he’d disappeared without a trace, after all—but he wasn’t about to let these paper-pushers question his birthright. He tapped the Chinese box absently, its mystery a quiet hum in the back of his mind, as he pulled out a tablet and started scrolling through the company’s latest financials.
“Numbers look… interesting,” he mused aloud, his brow furrowing. “Real interesting. Almost like someone’s been playing fast and loose with the books.”
Before anyone could sputter a defense, the doors opened again, and in strode two figures who looked like they’d walked straight out of an action flick. Yan Chao, a wiry woman with a buzz cut and an ex-military edge, moved like a predator, her dark eyes scanning the room for threats. Beside her was Amelia Summers, a tall blonde with a Southern drawl and a smirk that could melt steel, her curves barely contained by a leather jacket and tight jeans. They flanked Tommy like twin sentinels, and the board members visibly shrank under their combined glare.
“Yan, Amelia,” Tommy said without looking up from the tablet. “Take a look at this. Smells like bullshit to me.”
Yan snatched the tablet with a curt nod, her fingers flying over the screen. “Fishy as hell, boss,” she confirmed after a moment, her voice clipped and precise. “Someone’s skimming. Big time.”
Amelia leaned over Tommy’s shoulder, her breath warm against his ear as she drawled, “Sugar, you couldn’t wait for us to catch up? Left us in traffic like we’re some kinda afterthought. I oughta tan your hide for that.”
Tommy chuckled, unfazed, tilting his head to meet her gaze. “Darlin’, if I waited for you two, I’d still be stuck on 5th Avenue. Besides, I knew you’d find me. You always do.”
“Don’t get cute,” Amelia shot back, her green eyes glinting with mischief as she straightened up, hands on her hips. “Next time, you wait, or I’m chaining you to my side. And trust me, I’ve got the cuffs to make it happen.”
Yan snorted, handing the tablet back to Tommy. “Keep flirting, Summers. Maybe he’ll listen to you for once. Doubt it, though.”
Tommy grinned, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the board. “Alright, let’s cut to the chase. I see what’s been going on here. Profits over people. Asthma pumps jacked up to prices no one can afford? That ends today. I’m slashing the cost by half. Effective immediately.”
A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room. The crumpled-paper-bag man sputtered, “You can’t just—! That’s financial suicide! We’ll lose millions!”
Tommy leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, all traces of humor gone. “Lose millions? Or save lives? I’ve spent five years fighting to survive, pal. I know what desperation looks like. You don’t get to sit here in your thousand-dollar suit and tell me what’s right. This is my company now, and we’re doing things my way. Got it?”
The room was a battlefield of glares and gritted teeth, but no one dared challenge him further. Not with Yan and Amelia looming like twin storms at his back. Tommy stood, tucking the Chinese box under his arm, and flashed a crooked smile. “Good talk, folks. I’ll see you tomorrow. Try not to cook the books any worse before then.”
As he turned to leave, Amelia sidled up to him, her voice a teasing purr. “You’re just gonna drop a bomb like that and walk away? You’ve got balls, Anderson. I’ll give you that.”
“Had to grow a pair on that island, darlin’,” Tommy quipped, winking at her. “Stick around. You’ll see just how big they are.”
Yan rolled her eyes, falling into step on his other side. “Keep it in your pants, both of you. We’ve got bigger problems waiting at home. Your stepmother’s gonna eat you alive, and I’m not cleaning up the mess.”
Tommy’s smirk faltered for a split second, but he covered it with a laugh. “Oh, Yan, don’t spoil the fun. I’ve faced down sharks and storms. A little family drama? Piece of cake.”
Amelia arched a brow, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Sugar, you ditch us again on the way to that condo, and I swear I’ll tie you to the hood of my car. Don’t test me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tommy shot back, his voice laced with mock innocence as they stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut, sealing them in a bubble of tension and unspoken heat. He knew the real battle awaited at home—his stepmother, Cassandra, and her venomous daughters were a different breed of predator. But with Yan and Amelia at his side, and the strange weight of the Chinese box in his hand, Tommy felt ready for anything.
Or so he told himself.
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